The Tiger Who Came to Tea
by Procrastinisha
Summary: Moriarty/Moran slash. When the world's only consulting criminal starts to feel for the tiger that he brought in from the haze to exploit, Jim Moriarty tries to keep control of both Sherlock Holmes and Sebastian Moran without sacrificing one for the other as The Game spirals wildly out of control. Pre- to Post- Reichenbach. M/M
1. Chapter 1

**_"Man, or at least criminal man, has lost all enterprise and originality. As to my own little practice, it seems to be degenerating into an agency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to young ladies from boarding-schools." _**

_I apologise that I am not original enough to come up with my own super-psycho-criminal-mastermind hand-in-glove with my own fearsome tiger sharp-shot but considering they are the first and second most dangerous men in London besides Mycroft it would probably be ridiculous to try. Credit for the characters go to Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC for their wonderful modern adaptation. I don't own them, though I wish I did. I could use a 'tiger' of my own. Curses!_

* * *

Not many people care about James Moriarty.

His parents were very busy people; they rarely had time to indulge the antics of their young son, and nor did they notice when his behaviour took turns for the worse because of their neglect. They bought him a hamster and, when he was bored, he killed it. James had filled the tub with water, one side of the bath ramped, to test whether hamsters were the same (jump off cliff and keep swimming until drowned or, presumably, eaten) as lemmings. They weren't. The hamster found the ramp and Jim, angry that his game had been thwarted so soon, drowned the furry squealing animal mercilessly. When his parents questioned him about it he said that it had run away. Which was _half _true - it _had _run away from him once or twice before he'd caught it and held its head underwater. Even from _very_ young age among his peers, Jim Moriarty was never a favourable child.

This is why he finds it so hard to understand why Sebastian Moran seems to _care _about him.

Sebastian prepares his meals when he doesn't eat; Sebastian makes sure that he _sleeps _several hours more conservative than four; Sebastian makes sure that all of his employer's enemies meet their swift (or in some cases, not-so-swift, but then it is always deliberate) ends. Jim is not always as appreciative as he should be, in fact, he _never _is, and he takes Sebastian for cruel granted, like now, tutting with irritation and pushing a steaming plate of food away in favour of combing his e-mails (_Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me...)_ for something_ interesting._ Even though he shows no outward gratitude and, really, doesn't feel it on the inside, either, Jim knows that Sebastian knows that he is an integral part of James' life. And he hates it.

_**Pre-**_

He finds himself in the compromising position of needing skilled help. _Needing _it. Normally gunmen flock to him (-_daddy loves _me _best-) _like flies on shit, but recently, applications have been a little sluggish. That may be because he has all gunmen that do not measure up killed - can't have secrets getting out, of course, Moriarty likes to meet his new recruits and even the thought of it is a risk in itself - but that's never stopped them before. He catches word of an ex-army dog in one of the local bars who his _very reliable sources _say can outshoot anyone. None of them bother to add that possession of firearms is illegal in Britain - all it means is that this guy isn't against breaking the law, even if it's in a relatively small way compared to what he'll be doing if he accepts Jim's offer, which is exactly what they need. Jim does not usually take much notice of these kinds of things, but he hears the words, _drain _and _followed _and _man-eating tiger _and that's it, he doesn't know who this military man is, but he wants him working for him _now. _

The bar is full to bursting. Some music may be playing, but beneath raucous cries and the football game on and the clinking of glasses he can't hear it. The man he is looking for is hardly inconspicuous; he sits in the middle of the bar, cutting up a couple that want to sit together but are too scared to ask him to move, smoking. He is openly flouncing the bar's rules, the _country's _rules, in fact, and flaunting it by smoking and drinking right in the bartender's face. It's clear there's no way anyone is going to ask him to move on and Jim Moriarty has to wonder just how good of a shot he really is.

The man, built big even when hunched over, has clearly let himself go recently. He's not as lean as he could be (Jim'll fix it). He doesn't turn around when Jim sits down backwards on a bar stool - as soon as the man of the couple sees him coming, even though he doesn't know who he is (well-dressed, sober) he and his girlfriend move out of the way - next to him. His dog tags clink around his neck as he moves - _discharged from the army probably dishonorably no other reason for him to keep dog tags nostalgic no real purpose shows from spending life in bars and seedy hotels twitching fingers accustomed to pulling trigger occupies them with cigarettes what does he do without cigarettes? he doesn't chain smoker and drunk but otherwise almost prime physical specimen -_ Moriarty pauses in his internal monologue as the man turns his head lazily to face him. Blond hair, cut shaggy, falls over his eyes a bit, and it's shorter at the back. His pale blue eyes are unfocused. If he can shoot as well drunk as Jim's _very reliable sources _say he can then he has no doubt that the man will formidable sober. If he can manage that. Balancing his cigarette between the index and middle fingers of his right hand and tilting his head lazily, the man drawls:

"What the fuck do you want?"

It's then that Jim Moriarty knows. Jim wants Sebastian Moran.

* * *

_The last line: Jim Moriarty wants Sebastian Moran is in the context, Jim wants him 'in his employ'. Slash later! Basics now!_

_My headcanon Sebby is a mix between a lot of fan art I've seen (as described above) and Michael Fassbender. Because no one can deny the modern Sebastian Moran was made for Michael Fassbender.__ May continue a few chapters or may just leave this as a one-shot, not sure yet.__ I hope you like it!_


	2. Chapter 2

Sebastian Moran takes another drag of his cigarette, giving the bartender some serious hairy eyeball. He gives a flick of his fingers and ash lands on bare, varnished wood; they both watch as it smolders.

Sebastian clicks his tongue and the something-teen jumps - he is clearly frightened of him. That is good. It's not like Sebastian has much else to do (no one challenges him to games of pool anymore unless they're new around here) but scare the shit out of a kid who doesn't get paid enough to deal with assholes like him.

This goes on for however long it takes for Sebastian to go from pissed drunk to sinister, quiet drunk, until the kid's eyes rise from the pile of ash (that is quite considerable in size by now) to something behind him. The guy that had been sitting nervously next to him gets up and moves - great, _finally, _is he going to get a game of pool? - and the bartender stops hovering, moves away.

Heat burns his throat as he takes a drag, mint-and-tobacco flavoured smoke dancing over his tongue. He casts a sidelong glance towards the man that is now occupying the seat that was just vacated - he's dressed well, _way _too well for this area. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and the way he holds himself says _don't mess with me I'm dangerous I'll shove that pool cue up your arse _and his expression says _more than a bit unstable._

So no pool then.

* * *

**Sebastian**

"What the fuck do you want?"

Well, would you believe it - I swear, as soon as I cuss him out, the crazy bastard's face just cracks open into his huge, shit-eating smile, and with those eyes he looks a bit like a predatory shark, that shark from _Finding Nemo _right before he goes rabid: _"I'm havin' fish toniiiiight!", _and tries to turn Marlin and Dory into Australian knock-off sushi.

Or that could just be the alcohol talking.

He leans in. "I have a job that requires... _special attention. _I've heard that you're a decent shot."

He leans back again, looking smug, and I know I shouldn't rise but I do.

"Decent?" I snap. "I could shoot the buttons off your shirt from the other end of the bar. Or that stupid smile off your face, if you'd like."

He stiffens a little, as though he's not used to people talking to him this way. "You'll do," he says dismissively, shrugging and pulling a face. He gives me what can only be described as a facial tic - a quirk of the mouth that's not a smile, not really anything but acknowledgement - and stands up. He never takes his hands out of his damn pockets.

"I'll be in touch, Sebastian," he says, and suddenly, it's all very serious, very dangerous, and I have to wonder who the Hell I just took it upon myself to screw with.


End file.
